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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094436">Coccham's Christmas Tale</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha'>kingwellsjaha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(and humbly failed), (let's make that a tag), (the major character death is NOT osferth), Beowulf meets Gothic Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pagan vs Christianity theme, Recounting of the story of Saint Cecilia, Uhtred questionable parenting skills, set after season three, studying English literature has surely dissolved my brain, the writer tried to humby replicate the style of Beowulf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark line moved from the lower lip all the way down to the chin and a rune had been placed between her prominent dark brows. The rune Osferth had seen before and he shuddered in fear for it were the markings of the she-devil, the devil’s consort, the one his Lord had called a witch and killed. He shook then and there and wanted to banish the girl outside.</p><p>Or: do you think Skade should have haunted Uhtred and his men more? Do you like Beowulf and seeing Osferth in weird situations? Are you fond of witch ocs? If so this might be the fanfiction for you!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Osferth (The Last Kingdom)/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1-8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lord Uhtred builds a beautiful hall and quarrels with his children, a mysterious girl is found in the woods and Osferth dreams of the she-devil.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Studying English Literature surely is getting to me one way or another. I don’t know, I have mixed feelings about this, but I want to release the first part of this anyway and see how it pans out. This is deeply inspired by reading Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and the Wanderer. It contains a few references to certain translations, which can be found in the notes.</p><p>The main thing with texts like this is that one has to read between the lines. The characters will talk in a way that they will never on the show. Imagine as if a very badly skilled nun has written it down, brushing over the human details whenever logical Osferth would have to stammer through a sentence, just trying to tell an epic of sorts.</p><p>The one major departure from canon is that after Season 3, Uhtred takes back Stiorra and Young Uhtred. This is the only major change I have made.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Author’s Annotations:</b> Not much is known about the Coccham’s Christmas Tale. Like most works from the Early Medieval Period even its name is a fabrication, invented by the scholars that discovered the text in the early 19th century, which might be the reason for it’s unfitting whimsical flair. In general the scholars of the 19th century treated the text with disdain. This fragment of a longer epic could not keep up with the epic scale of Beowulf or the beautiful lyricism of The Wanderer. It’s a bastard text, an almost bawdy tale, more important for it’s cultural references to Alfred the Great, Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia and the time period, than for the story itself. This translation, however, has tried to preserve some of the original lyricism. While not part of the great literature the translator suggests that joy can be found in this tale as well.</p>
<h1>1.</h1><p>After Lord Uhtred had returned to Coccham, he ordered the building of a new hall. It was to be greater than the people of Coccham had ever heard tell of(1) and on the inside it was to be filled with the finest decorations. Sea serpents, valkyries and runes were meant to cover the walls, filling every living man with awe and fear.</p><p>For that purpose he ordered the strongest men of the village to cut down trees in the forest. And it was called far and wide through the nations of the isle(2) for the bravest woodcarvers in the land, for they had to be willing to carve Heathen obscenities onto the walls.</p><p>Lord Uhtred had been absent from the lands of Coccham for a year. An argument with the king had caused his banishment and only after his death he was allowed to return. During his travel, he had stumbled upon many adventures: the rescue of Lady Aethelflaed, Noblest Lady of Mercia, the fight against the she-devil whose name nobody dares to say, the death and ascension of his brother the brave Dane Ragnar the Younger. All these tales he honoured in this great hall. And especially for his late wife, beautiful Lady Gisela, who had died a year ago, he created a memorial.</p><p>The assembling of the hall took up most of summer and autumn. By the end it towered aloft, high and wide-gabled(3) in the center of the town, daring every Christian man to utter a word. It was a symbol of Heathen defiance in the heart of Wessex, but the people of Coccham remained cheerful, used to their Lord’s eccentric ways, and the king remained silent for he needed Lord Uhtred.</p><p>His men, Christian and Heathen alike, grew used to the frightening sea serpents and monsters on the walls. And soon the hall was filled with many laughter and cheers. For they didn’t know about the malicious fire(4) which was about to come or the curse that would follow.</p>
<h1>2.</h1><p>There was much rejoicing when the hall had been finished, but winter came fast. It was a peaceful time. The Danes lay still, licking their wounds.</p><p>But peaceful did not mean less harsh. It had snowed continually through November, freezing the grounds and land, hitting the people hard.</p><p>Osferth, bastard of the late King and one of Lord Uhtred’s most loyal men, spent his time in the church trying to help. The poor and less fortunate came streaming in each day with their tales of woe, their hands cold and throats sore. But no matter the size of the gathering Abbess Hild, founder of the church once a warrior herself, took them all in. And Osferth helped her by collecting leftover food from the hall, stirring the fire and reading to the children who gathered in the hall.</p><p>By his side always was Young Uhtred, Lord Uhtred’s oldest son of seven and his very bane, a studied child of God, who longed to go back to the monastery but was denied by his father. So instead he hid in church, followed the Abbess’ and Osferth’s every step.</p><p>And so they lived like this in an ongoing rhythm. Until one night, late in November, it was broken. The farmers of the village had found the most curious creature: a girl in summer clothes. She had laid in the forest beneath a willow tree. Her body was so cold, the Abbess and Osferth thought her to be dead, but through the fire life slowly came back to her.</p><p>She was a slip of a girl, with a frail small body. Her skin was light brown and covered in tattoos of different designs. Their dark ink seemed to tear itself into her skin. It made the bastard flinch just to look at them, but what really incited fear in his young soul was the girl’s face. It was even with a broad nose and a big wide mouth. She was beautiful, had it not been for the tattoos. A dark line moved from the lower lip all the way down to the chin and a rune had been placed between her prominent dark brows. The rune Osferth had seen before and he shuddered in fear for it were the markings of the she-devil, the devil’s consort, the one his Lord had called a witch and killed. He shook then and there and wanted to banish the girl outside.</p><p>“Banish her,” he proclaimed. “Cast her out. She will only do harm.” But the abbess shook her head and chided him. She said: “What has gotten into you to speak this way? Were you not a monk once? Are you not a Christian man filled with Christian love? To cast away the vulnerable and weak, your life as a warrior has gotten to your head.”</p><p>And so Osferth grew silent, his head red with shame and he promised Hild to stay by the girl’s side throughout the night. And it was needed because the girl was overcome with fever soon. She never once opened her eyes, neither did she move. Just lay unmoving like a stone as her body grew hot as fire. In the early hours of the morning her fever finally broke. And when Osferth was just about to fall asleep by her bedside, she opened her eyes.</p><p>They were wide and dark like a deer, filled with innocence and fear. And Osferth grew ashamed again. He bowed his head and apologized to God for almost abandoning something so pure. The girl eyed him curious and for a moment it almost seemed like she recognized him, but when he started to talk, she frowned. She didn’t speak the common dialect and when he switched to the language of the Danes, it confused her too. Baffled, the former monk tried to make her speak a word, but she remained quiet, not even her name she revealed. When the Abbess heard this all, she wondered if the fever had hurt her head.</p><p>But because the girl was still frail and bedridden, they took her in, despite her heavily covered body hinting at pagan origins. However, her expression and soft behaviour attested to a sweet Christian nature. She looked beautiful and pure, even with the markings of the she-devil on her face and Osferth caught herself staring at her more than once.  Given that they had found her on the 22nd of November, they called her Cecilia, after the Saint of that day, and it turned out to be quite a fitting name, for while the girl didn’t talk, she liked to sing.</p>
<h1>3.</h1><p>December grew even colder and harsher. Ground and lake froze completely. They huddled together in the hall, drank and told each other stories to keep warm. One night a group of villagers entered the hall. They were lower than farmers for their clothes were dirty. Their faces ugly from a life of work.</p><p>Lord Uhtred beckoned them in as he loved to show his splendor. They were given food and drink and sat with the others by the fire. The warriors were engaged in jest. Finan the Agile, an Irishman and first of Lord Uhtred’s men, just told his tale of woe about two not-so-honourable ladys in Winchester and the tables laughed and raised their glasses at the bawdy tale.</p><p>After they had finished, one of the maids got up. She looked old with a crooked back and wild hair, but her voice was high and attested her youth. She asked if she was permitted to speak. The warriors started to roar and whistle, but the maid withstood their lewd comments and waited. Lord Uhtred granted her request and so the maid started with a shaky voice.</p><p>She said: “‘Tis a cold winter, my lord. Colder than it has ever been. The ground is frozen, the trees are bare, so we come together by the fire of the farmer’s homes and sing sweet songs against the darkness of the night.”</p><p>“One evening, as we sang the forest grew dark. And then there was a scream ancient but human. As we looked towards the trees, a thousand steps could be heard like thunder; a thousand screams erupted. The youngest of us started to cry, Lord, when the boars appeared. They were a force to behold more animals than I can count with my two hands. They trampled over the ground. Nothing could withstand their way for they were hungry. The frozen ground yields them no food. In their desperation even the fire did not stop them. They squealed as they trampled over us. We ran but there was no place to go for they were in the houses, in the forest, in the dark. They destroyed whatever came in their way, ate our food, made us starve.”</p><p>“Since then we live in fear, we no longer sing songs in the dark cause it might incite the beasts, while you sit in your pagan hall with your men, drinking and feasting during Advent. We come to you humbly as servants of your lands. Send your warriors to clean us from this pest, my Lord, and our gratefulness will be yours until the end.”</p><p>Lord Uhtred nodded at these words and proclaimed: “You have spoken bravely in this great hall of men. I promise you by the end of the fortnight, I will send the best of my men to destroy the plague that haunts your village. I give you my word as the most honourable Lord of these halls.”</p>
<h1>4.</h1><p>Many cats lived on the grounds. The Lord welcomed them for they were a sign of the Heathen goddess Freya. And the churls and maids because cats caught mice and kept sickness and famine away. But it were the children that loved the cats most of all: chasing them across the yard, dressing them up in children’s clothes and stroking their soft furr. So they had rejoiced when one of the cats had given birth to a litter in the middle of November and were inconsolable when the litter died during an especially cold night. The oldest children of Lord Uhtred, little Stiorra and Young Uhtred took it especially hard.</p><p>Throughout the morning the men and women tried to console them, but they did not listen. Little Stiorra had one of the dead kittens in her hand and cradled it like one would cradle a babe. Osferth tried to comfort her by telling her the story of how all things are made, but it did not garner her attention. She shook her head and cried louder, her little voice echoing through the hall.</p><p>It was then that Lord Uhtred got up from his table with an angry expression. His booming voice filled the hall as he told his children to final seize their wailing. His most seasoned warriors could not withstand his command, but little Stiorra stumped her feet and shook her head before she ran out of the hall.</p><p>She was gone all morning. Osferth found her midday behind the old hall. She was building a pyrie with the girl, they called Cecilia, standing by. She must have slipped out of bed and moved past the Abbess’ notice, for she wore nothing but her undercloth. In her hands now lay the kittens and she petted them gently as if they were not truly dead. Quickly Osferth put his coat around her neck, but it almost seemed like the girl didn’t notice how cold her skin had gotten and how blue her lips shone for she only smiled at him.</p><p>Together they watched Little Stiorra assemble the pyrie. Her cheeks were red like apples from the cold winter air and she no longer cried but stood proud.</p><p>When she had finished, Cecilia stepped forward and arranged the kittens on the pyrie with precise movement. It was then that Young Uhtred appeared. In shock the young boy observed the ghastly scene. With disgust he said: “A Heathen fire for an animal? Sister, you are misguided for cats possess no soul that could go to heaven.”</p><p>“A good thing that we are Heathens then,” replied Little Stiorra with anger. She had the eyes of her father and his booming voice. Cecilia was undisturbed by Young Uhtred’s words. She did her work as if she had done it many times before. Young Uhtred watched her in disdain and then turned to Osferth.</p><p>The young lord said: “Brother Osferth, why won’t you stop this madness? What will God say watching us as we burn these animals and pray to these tin gods? Won’t he take his revenge?”</p><p>The former monk answered with a smile: “I understand your fear, little Lord, but I now have pledged my life to your father for almost six years, and God has not smit me once. A fire will not disturb his peace.”</p><p>Young Uhtred wanted to say many things more, but Cecilia took the torch then and started the fire. Quickly it burned as the smell of charred flesh filled the air. Little Stiorra and Cecilia stood side by side, watching as the flames consumed the kittens. Little Stiorra put her hands together as if to pray, but Cecilia stopped her and shook her head.</p><p>Then she opened her mouth and sang. For the very first time her voice filled the air, it did not fit her frail body, sounded as if it crawled out of her mouth and gathered around them like its own coat. Neither Norse nor the common tongue were the words she sang, but Osferth could sense its melancholy. An unknown sadness took hold of the soul of everyone around and soon even Young Uhtred shed tears as the pyrie burned down.</p><p>The small congregation cried together then. Cecilia continued her song until the pyrie had burned down. The two children cried loudly and Little Stiorra held on to Osferth’s hand. Other people gathered around, invited in by the sound. From the corner of his eyes Osferth could see the maids and the churls, the warriors and their wives, all in awe at the sight.</p><p>Cecilia’s voice lingered after she had finished. She looked somber at the burned down fire like an old woman almost. Her attention turned to Stiorra who moved forward and embraced her around the waist and thanked her for her work. Cecilia smiled like a mother and pressed Stiorra to her body. They held each other for a while, until they were called to supper. </p>
<h1>5.</h1><p>One night as Osferth lay in bed, he had the most dreadful dream. He dreamt, the she-devil walked the lofty halls(5), as he lay in bed hidden. He was so deep in slumber, he did not hear the slight, suspicious sound of the door opening(6) and the she-devil entering.</p><p>She walked towards his bed, a cruel smile on her painted lips, but he took no notice for he still lay fast asleep. Now she stood by his bed, her hand outstretched.</p><p>Only when her cold hand reached his soft cheeks, the spell of his slumber was broken and Osferth jolted awake, gasping.</p><p>And gasped again. It was still dark outside, but Osferth could see well the painted lips, the rune between the brows. In front of the bed shaking stood the girl, she must have walked through the snow to the hall. Before the former monk could ask, she fainted, her body overtaken by a fever yet again.</p>
<h1>6.</h1><p>The fever that had overcome the girl this time was most violent. She convulsed, gasped and panted. Her small body tossed and turned so violently, the former monk feared she would hurt herself on the bed frame.</p><p>He tended to her three days and three nights, rarely leaving his place by her side. Afraid she might be gone in the blink of an eye. On the third night, the girl calmed and she lay there awake with a thoughtful expression like a Madonna in church.</p><p>Osferth took her hand gently and said: “Loveliest lady, you have to sleep. God gives you strength and carries you on His shoulders, if you only close your eyes. So hear my story for your good night.”</p><p>“A long time ago, in the ancient land of Rome lived a noble woman with the sweetest face and manner. Her name was Cecilia. Despite the outer world’s insistence she had given her life to Christ in secret for it was a time when pageantry still ruled the hearts of many in this most noble land. But one day her parents decided to marry her to a pagan lord by the name of Valerian. And despite her anger there was nothing she could do for she was a good daughter that followed her parent’s wishes.”</p><p>“During her wedding feast, she sang to God, the most beautiful song bringing joy to every listener's heart, and that’s why she is the patron saint of musicians. When her wedding night came and the marriage was to be consummated, she revealed her husband that an angel watched over her. Should he try and lay a hand on her, the Lord would punish him terribly, but if he should respect her virtue, God’s love would know no bounds.”</p><p>“Her husband asked for proof of this angel and Cecilia told him to pass the third milestone on the Via Appia, but if he saw the angel, he would need to cast the shackles of pageantry aside and become one with Christ. Her husband followed her words, saw the angel standing by his wife’s side crowning her with flowers of spring and summer. He was baptized the same day.”</p><p>“Together they lived happily until the pagan prefect Turcius Almachius took his revenge for his pagan gods. He struck Cecilia three times on the neck with a sword heavy and thick, yet she lived for three more days and let her house be blessed to be a church.”</p><p>“And that is why we celebrate her life and death, and why you carry her name and it does fit quite splendidly for you have a sweet voice and noble demeanour.”</p><p>The girl listened to all his words attentively but silent. She did not fell asleep. Her eyes remained open and wide. She nodded along and when he had finished his badly told tale, she stared at him for a while.</p><p>Then she opened her mouth and spoke for the very first time. A mere whisper, it almost passed Osferth’s ears. The language she spoke was neither Common nor Norse, but it was one that Osferth could understand.</p><p>Carefully she said: “Fiat, Domine, cor meum immaculatum, ut non confundar.(7)”</p><p>Surprised the former monk looked at the girl, which replied to his look with an earnest expression. “How is it,” the former monk asked, “that you know these words?” But the girl did not answer and closed her eyes.</p>
<h1>7.</h1><p>Afterwards Cecilia did not utter another word. Only replied in hums. One could always hear her coming and going as she constantly sang to herself. Sometimes it seemed to Osferth as if she were singing church hymns, mumbled words of praise to God, but she never sang loud enough for him to hear clearly.</p><p>As the Advent progressed, the people of Coccham prepared for the arrival of Christ. The maids were busy kneading the dough, baking pastries and plucking the geese. Everything needed to be ready for the great feast in the hall. While the Lord was a pagan, he let them be, just watched them with amusement and took a pastry now and then. Unlike the Heathens in the stories of saints he was jovial towards his Christian men and allowed their worship. It was only his oldest son, Young Uhtred, he was angry about. Constantly the two quarrelled. The young boy had inherited his mother’s sharp tongue and cunning. And the lord got angry easily. Like Cecilia’s humming, their quarrels could be heard far and wide across the grounds of the hall.</p><p>The young Lord would cry: “You are of the devil. Nothing can save you. He has tainted your blood. Let go of me or God will smite you.”</p><p>And the Lord would erupt with laughter. Sometimes he grabbed his son roughly and shook him. He would say: “Where is He, your God? Where is His all-knowing rage? It does seem that Thor has stolen all his thunder.”</p><p>It always ended with the harsh voice of the Lord booming across the hall and the sound of small feet running.</p><p>Sometimes Osferth found the boy afterwards. Hidden away the young Lord allowed himself to cry. Other times he found him later in church by the books, studying the pages. His mouth would turn into a fine line, his countenance sullen and profound. No jest aimed at his direction could break his serious demeanour. Even the former monk felt blasphemous next to the young Lord.</p>
<h1>8.</h1><p>One especially windy night, Osferth dreamt of the she-devil again. She stood by his bed site with the smile of a wolf. He was awake this time, but tied to the bed by the forces of the devil. She reached out her hand and in the pale moon light Osferth could see water dripping from her fingertips. She was soaked and dirty from the river and it soiled the blanket.</p><p>Much like his hands, his tongue felt tied too. He looked up into cruel blue eyes, her smirk grew wide ready to swallow him whole. She reached out her hand and touched his cheek. A shiver sprang from her finger to his body and moved downwards. Like a spark igniting a fire it stayed with him, made his heart burst in his chest before moving lower. He willed himself not to feel a thing.</p><p>What do you want, evil ghost? He wanted to say. You hold no more power here.</p><p>The she-devil leaned closer and Osferth could feel the coldness of her touch, the water seeping into his blanket. It grew cold and wet, till the water was everywhere. He tried to breath, but could not. And the she-devil started to laugh.</p><p>What pulled him out, he later could not say, but when he opened his eyes. The water was all but gone. Only the shiver remained. The storm ranged outside loud and boastful and by his bed stood a figure, the slip of the girl, Cecilia, all shaking and cold with snow in her dark hair and lashes.</p><p>She looked as surprised as him. As if she had seen him just now. Swiftly the former monk took his blanket and wrapped it around the girl.</p><p>“What are you wandering in the cold like this?” He chided her as he pulled her to sit beside him. “You will get sick again.”</p><p>Cecilia did not say a word. Osferth could feel the cold through the blanket. He reached out his hand to wipe away the flakes from her hair.</p><p>She looked like the Madonna in church again, wide eyed and sweet. Without the tattoos she would have been an honourable woman any devout man would have liked to make his wife.</p><p>When a little time had passed and she had stopped shaking and they sat together rather awkwardly, Osferth asked: “Why don’t you sing for a while?”</p><p>The girl’s eyes widened and looked to Osferth as if she had not thought about it herself. Before another moment passed she opened her mouth and the most beautiful sounds came out. She did not sing in the foreign language Osferth could not understand, nor in the ancient language of Rome, but in the language of the Danes. Her voice was deep and heavy. The little Osferth understood through his years in service under the pagan Lord was about rough dark winters, sickness and approaching death, warriors lonely and old in the dark waiting for their end. The dark somber tone filled the room and inflamed Osferth again. The shiver moved down his spine towards his feet and he beckoned closer, putting his arm on her shoulder to make sure she was warm again. She continued singing as if no one was present to hear.</p><p>But then a loud scream pierced through the night. For the walls were thin and Finan the Agile, first of Uhtred’s men, lay only a wall away. Cecilia’s singing had stirred him awake and now he yelled agitated and angry: “Seize the singing, it is past midnight. Who dares to disturb the great warrior’s sleep?”</p><p>Surprised the girl stopped singing, a smile formed on her lips and she started to laugh. It sounded like church bells ringing. Osferth laughed as well and soon they lay on bed shaking with joy. Osferth laughed so much it hurt in his stomach and chest. Cecilia lay next to him in the same stupor.</p><p>And Finan the Agile screamed even louder: “Silence I beseech you or I shall chop off your balls and feed them to the pigs.”</p><p>His words did not frighten the two fools. Cecilia pressed her hand against her lips and then against Osferth’s as he did not stop laughing. Her fingers felt soft against his mouth and it surprised Osferth for she did not seem like a noble woman but the forest itself. Yet so close there was no roughness to be found, only the soft curve of her mouth.</p><p>He leaned forward and kissed her then most sweetly. And she kissed him back with the utmost innocence. It was a maiden’s kiss, hesitant and careful, soft and naive. He welcomed it worthily(8). Grabbed her chin and pulled her close. They passed kisses like this until the early hours of the morn.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(1) Beowulf. “It came into his mind that he would command a hall-building to be made, a banqueting-chamber, greater than the children of men had ever heard tell of” (67)<br/>(2) Beowulf. “I have heard that this labour of embellishing a place of the people was proclaimed far and wide to many nations throughout this earth.” (67)<br/>(3) Beowulf. “The hall towered aloft, high and wide-gabled:” (67)<br/>(4) Beowulf. “it awaited the upheavals of war and malicious fire, but it was not yet that time when violence was to break out between men bound by their sworn oaths, following a murderous attack.”(67)<br/>(5) Beowulf. “When night was come, then, he set out to investigate the lofty hall, as to how the mail-wearing Danes had organized it after the beer-drinking.” (115)<br/>(6) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “And as in slumber he slept on, there slipped into his mind/ A slight, suspicious sound, and the door stealthily opened.” (1182-3)<br/>(7) Taken from the Antiphona. These are the words Cecilia sings to God during her wedding. Translated from German: “Let my heart be blameless, O Lord, that I may not be put to shame.”<br/>(8) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “He welcomed her worthily with noble cheer” (1758)</p><p>well well well, the plot thickens. i hope this was in some way entertaining, i realized only half way through writing this, that this might be not everyone's cup of tea. (read: this might be very niche, maybe too niche). i am still working on part two and three, but wanted to get this out there, given that it is already quite long.</p><p>thoughts? opinions? i would love some feedback on this for multiple reasons.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 9-16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Songs are sung, tales are told and boars are hunted. By the end more than one thing has been set aflame.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I need to make an announcement here. While publishing the first part, I didn’t realize that one Archive Warning actually does apply. In the last Part of this story (Chapter 3: 17-24) a Major Character Death will occur. (No, it won’t be Osferth, do not worry and I do not want to spoiler it too much, but there is a reason why it slipped my mind.) If that is not your thing, totally understand, in this chapter no major character deaths will occur. Only one mildly sexual scene (which is the reason the story is rated M in the first place).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>9.</h1><p>The days after that night were spent generously. As the world slowed through the fall of snow, together with the children they played in the cold. Lovely Little Stiorra had fallen for Cecilia and wouldn’t leave her side. Small Sihtric, the youngest of them, ignoring his mother’s words, ran after them with glee in his eyes and laughter on his lips. Only Young Uhtred stayed sullen by the church and could not be convinced to leave, scolding Osferth for it was Advent.</p><p>But in the former monk’s mind he was rather peaceful, more peaceful than he had been at this time the year before. In the evenings, Cecilia sang to Stiorra until the little lady had fallen asleep. She knew many different songs. Sometimes she sang in the language of the Danes, sometimes in the language that Osferth could not understand. And then rarely the common tongue erupted from her lips, capable and certain, but whenever after she had finished and  he prompted her to speak, she looked at him in confusion.</p><p>Hidden kisses were exchanged behind the trees in the cold while the children were too busy noticing, and again in the night when they parted, he kissed her goodbye. In these few days of peace the she-devil ceased her haunting. No darkness clouded the sky.</p><p>Then one morning Lord Uhtred leaped from bed and his liege men did too(9), among them his bravest warriors. Finan the Agile, Sihtric Son of Elfaed and Osferth all rose and mounted their horses to free the village from the pest. Their horns proudly proclaimed their purposes(10). And it was like this that the great hunt was started. They went through the dark boar-infested forests, past the perilous waterways of the swamp(11) like paths. It had been here that Lord Uhtred had defeated the she-devil, but Osferth did not dare to dwell on that. The woods answered their trumpets with squeals and squeaks of their enemy.</p><p>Quick the baneful beasts were found, in packs they kept bursting through the clearings and bushes. There were so many, they could neither escape nor hide and the men had their joy making them cry. Finan the Agile in fact came up with a game of strength. Whoever would kill the most, would be the most valiant under Uhtred’s men. Filled with vigour the men went forth and continued their plight. Many of the creatures fell as their blood spilled the ground. By the end there were so many, they could not carry them all. Finan the Agile in stupor proclaimed to have won and demanded his price, but he had slain as many pig as Sihtric Son of Elfaed. So Lord Uhtred proposed that a chase to Coccham would announce the winner.</p><h1>10.</h1><p>Bugles blew their triumph, as they entered Coccham. The horns blared loud(12). Finan the Agile passed Sihtric Son of Ealflaed by the end and gloated over his victory proud. Osferth sat on his horse all confident and laughing with a grin as wide as the walls built around the land. His most noble Lord held a feast in their honour for they had done well. They drank from midday till night and made many merry jests. The longer the night went on, the longer the toasts got. It was a joyful sight. Little Stiorra danced and laughed as Lord Uhtred told his tales of victory and even Young Uhtred was gay and giddy, as he sat next to Osferth listening to the tale of the hunt.</p><p>Only the girl Cecilia, clad in the clothes of a novice nun, looked sad and no joke or jest could put her out of her misery. She looked around the hall, as if it insulted her greatly. The former monk was not able to understand for the girl did not seem Christian enough to take offense. Shouldn’t the girl have rejoiced in this Heathen splendor? But instead she grew smaller with each passing hour and her face became sad.</p><p>Stiorra put up a fight, when she was sent to bed and had to be carried off. And just as the other children had been sent off as well, Cecilia suddenly grew rigid, her eyes wide and sunken. Her head turned to Lord Uhtred sitting with his merry men. She spoke then in the common tongue with an accent that no one could trace. It seemed that she garbled on her words, yet wielding them well.</p><p>She said: “A toast to peace, for it never lasts. The swords have been already forged for the next war. Deceit will bring together what betrayal will destroy. Enemies shall lie with friends; Friends will turn foes; Love will be lost. So drink, and honour this merry moment. Drink and be happy one last time.”</p><p>That all she said and the hall turned quiet. The men looked to their lord and the lord looked to the child. He said:</p><p>“Child, can you hear yourself? The mead has gotten to your head. Sit down and sleep, for it seems that you think of yourself more völva than maid.”</p><p>The men laughed, but Osferth could see that the girl was not finished, her eyes still strange. And he was right for Cecilia stepped closer to the round of merry men. Merely a slip of a girl in the cast-off clothes of a nun, but it was forgotten when she stood in front of them. And as she looked around, it seemed to Osferth as if it were someone else’s eyes on him. The laughter died slowly. Even Lord Uhtred who had joked boldly, grew still and the most faithful men stopped their drinking.</p><p>Cecilia’s eyes, in the light of the candles, were bright and blue. She looked at the Lord, but she saw something else. She said:</p><p>“You have committed a crime, Lord, and you shall pay its price. Not with power or land, but with your heart. So drink and cheer, sing and dance. Rejoice Lord, for it will not last.”</p><p>As she had finished, her body shook, and before the Lord could ask further, she fell to the ground. </p><h1>11.</h1><p>Osferth carried her to the abbey. Her body was hot and sweaty. As he tended to her throughout the night, she never opened her eyes, nor did she speak a word.</p><p>The fever broke near morn, but she continued to sleep until the evening of the next day, then she opened her eyes again. Their colour was deep brown and full of sorrow. It wore him down then and he started to sob.</p><p>“Oh gentle soul, what do you look at me with such daunting eyes? Say, can you see the workings of my mortal soul? There is something rotting inside, was it that which you felt in the hall? What made you get up and utter this words?”</p><p>But Cecilia was silent yet again. He took her hand and pressed his lips against them most gently. </p><p>He confessed further: “There is a burden on my soul that tears me apart. Can you see it? Can you feel it? A most sordid horrible tale that keeps me awake and won’t let me rest.”</p><p>And so he started his tale of woe: “A year ago in winter, Lord Uhtred, most noble of them all, was cursed by the most fearsome creature, I’ve ever seen. She was a sight to behold, but rotten to the core. And she cursed my most noble lord without a warning.”</p><p>“I did not believe in magic then, thought of myself a good Christian man. I laughed at my comrades’ fear. Haughty was I tempting fate. But wherever she went there was conflict, darkness started to reside in men. It was a dark winter and a cold spring. Men died in their quest to pursue this fiend. And she laughed, I still remember her laughter well, a dark cackle in the night that haunts my sleep. I started to see it then, how everything she touched, had to decay, how she had been sent by the devil himself to spread chaos and evil across the land, between the Danes and the Christian men. She had a hold of my Lord, the most noble man. Her fingers tore into him and did not let go.”</p><p>“It started with a curse, she took a bloody heart and cursed him. His wife died first, birthing his youngest son. But the she-devil was not done. She told my Lord that he would betray the king before the night passed and so it went. In a heated debate, my Lord pressed his knife against the most Christian King. We fled through the North gates of Winchester towards Dane land, but even there we could not find unity. My Lord got dangerously sick and had to be nursed back to health. When we met Ragnar the Young, it ended in a clash and with a blink of an eye, my Lord’s brother was also dead.”</p><p>“I could sense my lord’s unrest and fear. Only through hard trials he learnt how to defeat the evilest witch whose name we do not speak in fear. He took her here to the lake, he bathed her and then he drowned her. I was his witness. I saw him press her head underwater, I saw her fingers reaching up struggling for life until they were alive no more and my lord he was free. I thought it a good deed back then.”</p><p>“But since then I cannot stop dreaming of her. I see her wander the halls, reaching out her finger and tainting it with her touch. I fear that she has come back for one cannot drown the devil truly ? What a foolish thought of victory.”</p><p>“So how can I defeat this evil looming in our midst? How can I break free from the darkness of past winters? It’s growing colder and colder and the world lies in shadows, defenseless against this one great peril.”</p><p>As he talked, Cecilia had remained silent. Osferth did not know why he had asked her to help him with this defeat, but there was the line on her lips, the rune between her brows. He wanted to know how she had come them by. Who had given her all these lines that marked her body as if she were an old warrior and not a young woman? But Cecilia said not a word. </p><h1>12.</h1><p>Many days later, the Lord and his son argued again in the great hall. Their voices echoed again for everyone to hear. What had started the quarrel later no one could quite tell, but it was of the old tale. The young lord had dared to be disobedient again and his lord father got very angry.</p><p>He said: “Silence boy, I will not allow you to disrespect me, you are my oldest son. You bear my name. You come from a line of proud Lord of the North and one day, you will rule over our homeland again.”</p><p>The booming voice of the Lord rolled over the hall like a wave, but his son was just as stubborn. He shook his fists against his father with the sharp eyes of his Heathen mother. He replied: “Curse your name. Don’t you know how much you shame your line? Once a proud Christian Saxon, now you stand here as a Heathen Dane. They would shake their head and weep at your dishonour. Take your name, I do not want it.”</p><p>At these words Lord Uhtred lunged forward, but the boy was too quick. He moved away and ran out of the hall and was gone, could not be found in the church or barn. The Lord dismissed his own worries, but grew angry when the boy did not appear to dinner and even the hushed words of his warriors could not calm his fire.</p><p>He raised his voice, so that his cowering son would hear him as well: “Insolent child, who was taken to me as the king’s last revenge, how dare you disrespect both me and your mother, know you no shame? Come out of hiding and I will treat you like a man.”</p><p>But even then the boy would not come out, he remained absent for the entire meal and was still not to be found as Little Stiorra was sent to bed. By then the Lord was consumed with anger and worry alike, he walked through the night daring his son to come out, blinded by fear he was, but the bastard was not. He looked around the grounds, but could not find him. Then Cecilia’s voice erupted from the dark singing a sweet Saxon song.</p><p>Osferth found her and Young Uhtred far by the river. The boy had hid himself in one of the boats, but now that Cecilia started singing he had climbed outside and she had wrapped him in her cloak, continuing her song. Usually the boy shied away from the marked girl, but as she sang he looked at her with his mouth wide open. It was a sweet tune from Osferth’s youth, sung by the choir at church once. And as she sang it sounded as if an entire choir came from her mouth. The song ended just as he arrived and she made a small courtesy as she watched him appear.</p><p>The young Lord still stared at her in awe: “Pray, how can it be that you know this song? You do not seem as if you have found yourself in silent prayer.”</p><p>Cecilia laughed and gently brushed the young Lord’s hair to the side. He looked cold and pale in the moonlight. Many hours he had waited  on the boat for someone to take him away and the cold and dampness had sunk into his bones. Carefully Osferth picked him up and brought him home.</p><h1>13.</h1><p>After they had put the little Lord to bed and he had kissed Cecilia once, twice, thrice to sleep, he went on his way to bed. The sun had gone a long time ago and only the flames of the torches guided his way. Still warriors could be found all around, coming from the hall filled with wine, making jests in the snow.</p><p> As he walked he thought he heard a familiar cackle. It was malicious and evil, rotten and rancid. The sound sent shivers down his spine, and it occurred again.</p><p>A voice both ancient but human laughed at them. And the bastard knew that sound well, had it not haunted him in his sleep. It was the she-devil cackling at him from afar and the world around them grew dark, and through the night pierced and unholy squeal, as one boar erupted from the dark.</p><p>A baneful beast of magnificent size jumped out of the dark and moved towards the hall. Old it was and brawny, uncaring for the danger. It grunted with great grief(13) for it had survived the warriors initial slaughter and there was bloodlust in its eyes. It was the biggest any of them had ever seen(14). And its squeals went straight to the bones and incited fear. That was why they only stood there, Lord Uhtred’s great men, turned to deers themselves.</p><p>Only the former monk looked around searching for she-devil, but she was nowhere to be found. The boar had approached them now. It’s pointed teeth raised against the onslaught, ready to die like a warrior.</p><p>But then the girl Cecilia stepped forward, clad in nothing but her nightgown with bare feet and her hair a halo of dark curls. Osferth froze in fear. With the calmth of the forest itself she reached out her hand as if it held a bow and the boar grew slow.</p><p>It slowed its steps and stopped in front of the girl. Taller than her, it gently raised his snout and pressed it against her hand. Around her the warriors stared in disbelief and fear. With her soft hands Cecilia petted the boar. Then let it go with a nod.</p><p>And the animal turned back to the darkness it had come from. Peaceful as if it was an entirely different beast. Cecilia watched it leave, then turned to the church. It was only then that the men allowed themselves to breath. They looked at the other with curious expressions.</p><p>Osferth followed Cecilia. She stopped when she heard him approach and when she looked at him her face could have not been more grave. The former monk’s heart quenched as he looked at her. He trembled. He wanted to say many things for he knew it was the she-devil waiting in the forest, taunting them, laughing from her hideout of the lake, casting her a dark deathshadow(15) over the hall. They had left her there foolishly thinking that nature would take a hold of her tainted body, but even that the devil had claimed for itself. And now she infested this land.</p><p>With his heart full of fear and shaking fists, Osferth, bastard son of Alfred the Great, a former monk from the monastery of Winchester, swore himself to make it right again.</p><h1>14.</h1><p>He rose at dawn, not uttering a sound. No hopeful horns flared. Nothing to announce his departure or arrival. The forest replied in silence: no bird chirping, no howl, sticks too frozen to break underneath his feet. The paths that had been clear during the hunt were now obscured by snowy peaks, and the former monk walked aimlessly. He waited for the witch’s cackle, expected evil around each corner.</p><p>But the woods did not give away its secret. Empty it stood and vacant. The bastard grew tired of his search. He raised his hands towards the sky and proclaimed: “Like a coward, you hide in the serene quiet. Such a craven creature you are truly. I demand for you to reveal your ugly mask and face me.”</p><p>As soon as he had uttered these words, a storm came from the north and the light forest grew all grey and clam. Forceful winds made the trees bend. And the young man’s heart started to beat fast. Quickly he moved forward, down the former gentle streams, now currents of death, until he arrived at the heart of the forest. The dark lake, almost a moor, greeted him with loud winds and snapping sticks. The frozen over lake cracked gently underneath his feet. He started to ran for he knew he was near. The she-devil waited in the lake’s heart, most of her body had succumbed to the ice, but her head was there for him to see.</p><p>In life she had seemed above death itself, but like all mortals decay had gnawed on her. The water had taken her skin and animals had taken her eyes, yet the rune and line on the lip were still there for all to see.</p><p>It took him until nightfall to free her from her imprisonment. His hands hurt as he carried her out of the water. With his last energy he prepared a great fire and watched her burn. The storm pulled against his bones, his teeth clacked against each other, his blue lips, but he would not leave. Watched the slow destruction of the body patiently. Watched has her pale blonde hair disappeared, her pale skin turned to ash. The fire licked at the bones and clothes and when it was done, the she-devil was no more.</p><h1>15.</h1><p>Sickness struck him, the moment he arrived back at the hall. Three nights and three days he lay in bed shivering with fever. In his dreams he wandered  in the dark of the forest. Knee deep in the water he searched for the she-devil, but she was not there to be found. He screamed her name and said:</p><p>“Where are you, foul creature?  Enemy of humankind(16) show yourself. I thought you to be fearless and strong, where are you now?”</p><p>But no one answered the bastard’s calls. He moved forward until in the distance he could see a willow tree. A creature stood there waiting, both friend or foe at the same time. A great sadness overcame the former monk at the sight and it was only lifted when he woke.</p><p>With the opening of his eyes the dream fell of him and his heart was light. He laughed and cheered at his fellow men that had tended to him. And when he heard that Cecilia had been by his bedside with her soft hands and care, he felt even lighter and he thanked her manifold with gifts of food and cloth.</p><h1>16.</h1><p>On Christmas Eve a great feast was held in the hall. The men drank and ate, stories were told, and many song sung. There were many jests and much laughter, the warriors seemed to defy the laws that dark gloomy winter had post onto them. Even the Heathen lord was among them and raised his cup to their health. It was a sight that would have filled every living person with warmth and glee.</p><p>Only the girl they called Cecilia was filled with fear. Quickly she ate and abade the festivities. Even when Osferth urged her to stay, she would not listen. So soon he followed suit. She waited in her room in the abbey with dark vacant eyes but a full smile. Quickly he embraced her in his arms.</p><p>“Why are you so fearful?” He asked. “It’s Christmas’ Eve, our Lord and Saviour will be here soon. You need not worry anymore. No devil waits any longer in the dark. I unearthed her and burned her remains, whatever lurked in the forest of Coccham has been dealt with.”</p><p>With these words and many like them he spoke, but the girl could not be persuaded to smile. So he took her hands and kissed them gently.</p><p>He said: “Oh, I beg you, sing for me for you sing so sweetly and true. A choir could not compare to the fullness of your voice. Please sing a beautiful song. Sing about the voyage of Virgin Mary and Joseph, sing about the birth of Jesus, please sing me a song.”</p><p>And so the girl opened her mouth and the most beautiful sounds came out. This time her voice was high and lofty. Faint like the stroke of a dove’s wing. She sang in the old language of Rome with clear pronunciation, as if she knew the meaning of every sound and Osferth watched in awe as his heart swelled in his chest.</p><p>And in that moment it was clear to him that there were no finer lady, no nobler creature on this earth than the girl in front of him with her light brown skin and soft broad features. Overcome with emotions he kissed her then, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her small fibble body felt cold through her dress. He swore himself to make her feel warmer. Pulled her to the bed, pulled her closer. Her lips pressed softly against his, opening to his attentive care and greedly the former monk swallowed all her sweet sounds. His lips went on a journey then starting at her neck. He could feel the flimmer of her heart beating against her chest.</p><p>She started to sing again, continuing her song. And he kissed further down against the linen of her breasts. Her voice grew fuller like the earth as he did. The song changed to the ways of the Danes, wrapping itself around them. He paid it no mind as his hands tried to find entry to the hidden treasures of her chest. So they continued until her voice had filled up the room and there was no more air to breathe than her song.</p><p>And in the darkness of her voice Osferth looked up to her face to kiss it again, but instead of the girl the pale mask of she-devil stared at him. With a twisted smile on her lips she watched Osferth’s shocked expression. And though she did not sing, Cecilia’s voice still filled the air. The she-devil’s hands twisted themselves into his hair and she pressed him against her wet body with cruel laughter. The bastard couldn’t help, but drown in her body, his arms wailing around, mouth gasping for air. And the she-devil laughed and laughed, until the world had almost disappeared.</p><p>Then a loud piercing scream made Osferth open his eyes. He lay in bed all alone, agitated and wet. Another scream could be heard from outside and then shouting and cursing.</p><p>Quickly he got up and walked outside. The first thing he saw was the hall eaten by the flames of a raging fire. The people stood around watching for it was too late to be saved. The proud wooden pillars had already turned black. The sea serpents, valkyries and monsters were gone. The soft smile of the late Lady Gisela lay destroyed. Lord Uhtred stood among the men with grave countenance to his feet stood Little Stiorra clinging to her father’s leg.</p><p>Then a man screamed that the culprit had been found. And through the night chief among Uhtred’s men, Finan the Agile, dragged a creature across the frozen earth. He threw it onto the ground before them. Osferth saw first the striking black line on the lips, the rune between the brows. Cecilia looked up neither frightened nor proud.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(9) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “The lord leaped from bed, and his liege men too” (1413)<br/>(10) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “Proudly the hunt with horns” (1417)<br/>(11) Beowulf. “They haunt an uncharted territory - wolf-infested hillsides, windy crags and the perilous waterways of a sump, where a mountain stream, a torrent, goes down beneath the gloom of the crags, underground” (1345)<br/>(12) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “Bugles blew the triumph, horns blared loud.” (1601)<br/>(13) Sir. Gawain and the Green Knight. “And grim and ghastly when he grunted: great was the grief” (1442)<br/>(14) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. “A baneful boar of unbelievable size,/ A solitary long since sundered from the herd,/ Being old and brawny, the biggest of them all.” (1439-42)<br/>(15) Beowulf. “Instead, the monster, a dark deathshadow, went on harrying seasoned warriors and youthful ones alike” (146)<br/>(16) Beowulf. “Thus the enemy of humankind, the hideous creature which walked alone,” (164)</p><p>Well and so the plot thickens... While writing this I have started come up with titles for mock academic papers based on this, not sure if this makes me very conceited or further proves that academia really is getting to me, but my favourties are: “The forest does not answer: The imagery of wild life and nature within the Coccham’s Christmas Tale,” “Noble Heathen Lords and Madonna Like Witches: The crossing of binary oppositions in the Coccham’s Christmas Tale.”</p><p>Let’s see if I can finish this story before the New Year, I am not that optimistic, but who knows.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 17-24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A trial is held, justice is delievered and everything turns back to normal.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, well, well. Thank you everyone who has come back to the last installment of whatever this is. I am a bit nervous and hope that this can live up to the cliffhanger that I gave in the last chapter.</p><p>For some reason, this chapter has almost zero citations, I probably could have gotten some. If I had actively searched for bits, but I kind of roamed free. I hope my writing does not suffer much because of it.</p><p>I have to give <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana">irisdouglasiana</a>, also known as <a href="https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/">ivarthebadbitch on tumblr,</a> a shout out here, a story/idea she had concerning Skade basically kickstarted this. I will elaborate a bit in the end notes, but I just want to say thank you for the countless times you inspire me (and bear with me). And also for everyone else: She has some amazing The Last Kingdom Fanfiction, which you should check out.</p><p>One last thing--this is a rather long note I know--I have added warnings, one is Canon-Typical Violence, but the other and more important warning is MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, a warning which I forgot initially and then decided to give now. I will not spoiler much, but given that I know that people read this story for Osferth, no, he will not die.</p><p>Warning: Major Character Death, Canon Typical Violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>17.</h1><p>The trial was held the day after. Overnight the word had travelled and many people had come from far and wide to the courtyard of Lord Uhtred, so that it seemed as if all of Coccham was present, the warriors and the farmers alike. They gathered in a circle and placed the slip of the girl in the middle. She had been stripped from the novice shift of the nun and only bore the white undergown. Frost had bitten into her face and hands and her locks were in disarray, yet she stood calm and unshaken as if she wore the warmest gown.</p><p>Around her the people gathered and gawked. There was Sihtric Son of Ealflaed with his wife and son, standing together, with the Dane’s hands on his son. The young child could not comprehend what was happening and fought to join the girl, his former play companion, in the circle.</p><p>Finan the Agile, who had found the girl, stood by her side with his hand on his sword ready to strike should Lord Uhtred give him the word. He had advised Osferth to stay by the church, but Osferth had not listened. He stood at the circle with Young Uhtred by his side, and noted the sweat of fever on the girl’s brow. He had not slept the entire night in worry and quivered and quaked as if he was the one who didn’t wear a gown. The young Lord watched it next to him all with a scowl and furrowed brows. On the other side stood Little Stiorra by her father, the lord. Angry she cast her gaze against the girl she once had loved so dearly and it seemed that like the chief among Lord Uhtred’s men, she was prepared to strike who had set the hall aflame.</p><p>The girl, merely a slip in the white snow, bore a mask of indifference to it all. Only her eyes moved, as the Lord as he stepped into the circle, but she did not shift nor quiver as he approached. Not even when he cast his look directly down on her.</p><p>He proclaimed: “We have gathered here to cast judgement on a crime for which the culprit has been found with sullied hands. Finan the Agile, my most loyal man with whom I stood together many times side by side, survived peril and slavery alike, caught her in the act and dragged her in front of me so that justice can be served and now we have gathered here to all bear witness to the trial. But given her age, she will be allowed to defend herself. So tell your tale, culprit, and tell it well, for us to judge your crimes.”</p><p>Silence followed and Osferth’s heart sank for he knew that the girl would not utter a word and he wanted to move forward and hold a speech in her defense, but then slowly the girl rose from her spot and stood proud in the middle of the circle. She raised her head to the sky and started to sing in every language there was, her voice an echo haunting the yard.</p><h1>18.</h1><p>She sang: “Long before this place was called Coccham, a man lived here with his family. He had been a warrior of the Roman armies, hailing from a place far far away, where the sun is always shining and winter is rare. He spoke many dialects and was rather wise. The people of these parts trusted his judgement and the daughter of the chieftain fell in love with him. They married and lived together in love and harmony and bore many children. Among them a daughter so sweet in nature and lovely, blessed with the voice of a songbird. And they loved her most of all and kissed her many times. But the day their most beloved daughter had grown old enough to be married, the chieftain’s daughter was visited by a boar that foretold her the most terrible. It said: By the end of this year, your most beloved daughter will seize her singing, her throat will grow sore and swollen and her body shall be overcome with a fever it cannot fight off and then in the darkness of the night she will be no more.”</p><p>“After the chieftain’s daughter heard the news she fainted in fear. The wise warrior and her cried for three days and nights, mourning the living child, but by the end of the last night as the sun crept up over the hill. And so the warrior took his daughter into the forest, deep until he came to a willow tree, and there he dug a hole deep into the brown earth. And as he buried his living daughter, he spoke a spell even more ancient than this place. And he gave his daughter a new name and wove a tapestry between her and this land. And when he was finished he imbued it with his fiercest love and called for the first time to the protector of her realm. And deep in the earth his daughter heard the call and opened her eyes and perceived everything that was within. Every living creature that walked over the soil, every tree, every wind. And when a creature died on this very soil, she felt them within her. And like this the land got its memory and protector of the realm came into being.”</p><p>“Now the man died, as did his wife and some day their grandchildren too, until there was nothing left of them. Their names were forgotten and the names of the rulers after them. The Romans left. The Saxons came. The language changed, the gods, the names, but to the girl it was all the same. She too had forgotten her own, only knew the last name she had been called upon: protector of this realm. Her body had changed with the paintings of men. She knew everything and nothing, could speak every language, but did not open her mouth. Knew the hymns of gods that lie forgotten, but was unable to reach them. Could read and write as if she were the most erudite monk, but never had held a quill in her hand. She dwelled in the earth of the forest, swam in the darkness of the lake, hid behind the stones and bushes and trees.”</p><p>“Though burdened with knowledge, she didn't think much of it for it was not in her nature to think. Like the ground she was that made the weed grow. The forest she was and meadows. She was every person that had died here and none of them at all. With joy she carried all their memories, cried tears for their sorrow, and was enraged by their plight, and when people stopped and listened to the wind, they could hear her singing a faint song.”</p><h1>19.</h1><p>“One day a Lord was given this land they call Coccham now, but it was more consolation than price. Oh, this lord’s eyes, they were always on something else, a place far away by the sea which he thinks can make him happy. The protector of the realm felt his longing and pain and so she grew the most beautiful flowers and sang through the birds for him her joyous song. But the heart of the Lord was not moved. Still he grew roots and settled here, with his beautiful young wife and soon she gave him beautiful children fair. And in the meadow the girl sang. But then misfortune plagued him as his wife died, the king banished him, his children were sent away. As he fled these lands he took with him a woman, wicked and wild, thirsty for blood. He resented her and made her responsible for the disaster that had struck him most terribly. For a year or so he was absent, until he returned. And through it all, the girl did what she had been called upon to do, she danced in the meadows, bright and beautiful. She laughed with the wind and sang with the birds.”</p><p>“When he came back, he came with the woman wicked and wild. Oh what had gotten into him? He came by boat and took the woman to the heart of the forest. There he drowned her as his loyal servant watched. He pressed her head underneath the water and waited until she moved no more. The protector felt the drowning like an earthquake, it went through the land she calls her body. And the wickedness and the wildness settled in. And the lord, fool that he was, left the wicked woman there.”</p><p>“First she floated for a while, then rot seized her body. Birds picked apart her face and fish ate her skin. Other parts of her body turned to the earth and water and became part of the trees. And the protector of this realm felt this woman’s vile thoughts etching themselves into her head. There was anger starting to coil inside her belly and vengeance on her lips, and she roared so loudly it stirred the animals, the birds flew away and the boars left the forest in fear, so loud was the scream that it pierced through the land.”</p><p>“And fear stirred from within the protector’s body as the woman took a hold. But the people, the people did not know. They fared as they always did. And the proud Lord of this place decided to build a hall in the town square and he built it from the infested wood of the forest nearby, forgotten he had the woman that had plagued him for a year, forgotten he had his fear. But the girl, the protector, she could feel the woman close, she could feel her etching herself into the land as their bodies became one. And the fear that took a hold of her made her turn into flesh once more. Weak nimble feet trying to find their way home.”</p><p>“But her body was as weak as it had been in her life, covered in the evidence of everyone that had lived before her. And her mouth was dry and dull. Every language felt strange and heavy on her tongue and every name rang as if it were her own. She had come to warn you, but she could not speak, she came to these doors with a silent plea. Only the lord’s loyal servant that had stood by as the vile woman had been drowned could sense the warning, so he burned the wild woman in the darkness of the forest. His heart true, but his deed misjudged, now I, the wild vile woman, am finally part of her. Now I am the protector of this land and she is me. And my vengeance is hers, as her powers are mine.” </p><h1>20.</h1><p>“And now that we are the same, I am part of these lands. You shall never find peace in this place ever again. My vengeance is in the trees and in the beast. It resides in the darkness and in the light. It resides in men, as distrust fills their hearts.”</p><p>The girl stepped towards the lord, and the circle burst as the men stepped back in fear. She pressed her hand against her heart resided. Her eyes were big and blue. Her voice still flew around the place, many sounds, soft and harsh, deep and high. Manifold voices singing a gruesome song about a girl dancing beneath a willow tree, a bloodthirsty woman laughing most terribly.</p><p>When the girl opened her mouth again, it were the she-devil’s words. She said: “I curse you Lord, curse you to your bone, but unlike the last time, it will not be death, nor sickness that awaits you next, for I curse you with life instead. I rip out your heart that resides in your chest and take it with me. No love, no matter how true, will ever satisfy you. What little you have of your family will break apart and lie destroyed. Slowly you will watch everyone you love die. And what remains you will betray. Emptiness will follow your every way and when you will finally find the land which had been promised by your ancestors to you, when you think you are free, nothingness will await you there. So do what you wilt, cast your judgment and dare to destroy me, Lord, for the girl cannot be killed.”</p><h1>21.</h1><p>The voice of the she-devil echoed in the air as this great choir washed over the farmers and warriors gathering there. And then the girl took a step back, her eyes big and brown like a deer. Deafening silence followed the cacophony of sounds, as everyone wondered and gawked at what had happened before them. The most noble Lord Uhtred shook with rage and fear. He broke into the circle and grabbed the girl most forcefully.</p><p>He yelled: “Take back what you have just said or you will pay with it with your life!”</p><p>But the girl remained quiet and did not budge. She looked up to the lord with the calmth of deepest sea and the lord grew angrier and shook her more. On the outer line of the circle Osferth felt moved, but was grabbed by Finan the Agile and stopped. Many things went through the bastard’s mind in that moment, but no words came out and so he watched as the Lord cast his judgement.</p><p>He said: “You burned the most beautiful hall to the ground and will not give your reason and now you have cursed me citing an old evil. At first I thought it was insolence, but you are a truly malicious creature seeking to destroy what lies within your path. I cannot let you go wander these lands. You are a danger to the world and its people and so my judgement will have to put an end to your evil.”</p><p>The girl did not falter. The crowd did not gasp. Into the silence the Lord demanded for a ribbon to be brought made out of the softest silk. Frozen like ice to the ground Osferth stood by the circle and watched as they waited. No laughter, no murmurs filled the circle and the girl, they had given the name Cecilia, stood in silence unwavering, unquivering as if she were not truly there.</p><p>Young Uhtred, oldest son of the Lord, was the one to break the damning silence, as he stepped forward into the circle. He said: “If you kill her now, I will leave forever and never return. I will deny your name and legacy. Stop this madness, Lord Father, before it is too late. There is no curse that can bind you, what she has said were mere words. But if you continue and wrap that ribbon around her neck, I will leave within the next days and this place shall never see my face again.”</p><p>Lord Uhtred replied in a booming voice: “Silence, son, you know not what you say, cast no judgement for the damned. If I do not wrap the ribbon around her neck, there will be no family for us left, nor happiness. She is a culprit guilty of a crime and I am the lord of this place, it is in my right to cast justice and it needs to be done.”</p><p>And Little Stiorra moved with her father and nodded: “You have spoken well father, and true. Foolish brother, have you forgotten our ways? We are proud Danes! We gave this girl a name and a shelter. We opened our hearts and our doors and she repaid our kindness with fire and a curse. What will the people think if we let her go? The crime has been committed and the mad reasons she has given only solidify our decisions, so step aside and be quiet.”</p><p>But the little lord shook his head and stomped his feet: “Damn you Heathen folk, it is true what the monks said, there is nothing left in your rotting hearts. You have rejected Christ’s love and therefore are damned. You listen to your false gods whispering into your ear. There are no witches and there is no curse! If you condemn her for the crime of burning the hall, I’d be glad, but not for the curse.”</p><p>And as Young Uhtred had finished, the servants had brought a silk ribbon band, soft and beautiful in colour. It had once belonged to the fair Lady Gisela and for a moment as Lord Uhtred wrapped it around the girl’s delicate neck, it seemed to adorn her features. Still the girl did not tremble, she looked at the crowd, but looked at no one. Finan the Agile and Sihtric son of Ealflaed were by Osferth’s side, when the lord strangled the girl’s neck. She did not gasp for air. Only her hands reached up to the ribbon, but she did not struggle, just held onto the beautiful ribbon made of silk.</p><p>It was a kind death, even in his anger Lord Uhtred had mercy and did not break her neck or scratch her skin. It was a long death for every warrior knows it takes long to strangle someone, even just a mere slip of a girl. Osferth stood there watching the odem of life leaving her. Silently he pleaded to heaven for the angels to intervene, for the earth to shift and change. It was justice that was done, but it felt wrong.</p><p>And then the girl reached out her fingers towards him, struggling for life, with a silent plea in her eyes. Save me, they whispered and then they said nothing more, for she was not alive anymore. And his Lord freed himself of the girl and let go. And her small lifeless body sank to the ground, carved by many different paintings that looked as if they had been edged into her skin. And just like this the girl that did not talk and only sang was gone.</p><h1>22.</h1><p>They buried her in an unmarked grave. None of the diggers dared to say a word. Even Osferth remained silent, stunned by the image. The deed was done at midday and then no one ever spoke of her anymore.</p><p>The sons of Uhtred left the next morning. Young Uhtred grabbed his baby brother Osbert on the horse. No words were exchanged between father and son. Only the former monk bid his farewell. The Young Uhtred looked at him from his horse.</p><p>The young monk said: “Farewell, Osferth, good Christian son, once you were a monk like me, look how far you have come! Now a true warrior loyal to my lord father, I hope he fares you well. May you find joy in the hall and in the laughter. May drink warm your heart because in death you will only find the cold depths of hell.”</p><h1>23.</h1><p>As spring came, a new hall was built, it was to be the greatest that there ever had been. The Lord ordered the finest wood from the vast forests of Winchester and called for the best woodcarver of the isles and all came together to build this hall together, so that it may stand lofty and tall. Day and night one could hear them work and even as fresh snow covered the early buds of spring, they could not be stopped.</p><p>Yet it was a solemn time, the mouth of men was closed and even when Lord Uhtred’s merry men sat together in the night with ale in their bellies and a story on their tongue, their laughter didn’t last as long, their quips and limbs tense, their smiles stony reflections. And their lord most of all sat silently through it all, not saying anything at all. In his loss for words everyone else lost theirs too. And so they sat like the buds covered in snow.</p><p>Heavy was the heart of the former monk and so he laughed and talked even less than his lord. And no matter how much Finan the Agile and Sihtric Son of Ealflaed tried, they could not make him smile. More often than not he cast his sword aside and came to the church in aimless prayer, uncertain what to call for. There was no need to complain, no question that needed an answer, just a piercing pain where his heart beat strong in his chest.</p><p>And some days when he sat in the church all alone, Abbess Hild had long gone, he could hear the craftsmen outside; the soft wind that blew through the trees; the sweet song of early birds. And they all played together in disordered consonance, a song of different languages. And it seemed to him as they came together, he could hear another voice humming, it sang in Saxon, Latin and Dane. It sang in a language too ancient and old for him to understand. Sometimes it sang sweet songs, sometimes it sang sad ones. And when the former monk opened his eyes, the voice was gone.</p><h1>24.</h1><p>One night he dreamt, he walked the forests of Coccham again. Winter was at his retreat. Through the snow one could see the blossoms of spring. He walked without guidance, but his feet knew the way, following the stream of water, until he came to a clearing and in the clearing was a willow tree. And at the willow tree she stood, beautiful and free.  As if she had awaited him, she turned to him. Her face she held in great countenance like the Holy Mother Mary looking at him in church, like judgement herself.</p><p>The former monk had not known until then why he had walked through the trees, but in her dark brown eyes, he realized his destiny. So he went on his knees like a beggar approaching a king and held up his arms in devout posture.</p><p>He said: “I don’t know which name to call you, so I will address you both. She-devil, the one that is called [missing name]*. My master played your game and won it justly. You have no one but yourself to blame, but if you want my apologies, you shall have it nonetheless. I apologize for watching you die, I apologize for leaving your body out there to rot. I understand that my lord’s peril amuses you, but I beseech you to lift this curse.”</p><p>“And to you, my most noble Lady, protector of this realm. I don’t know which name to call you, so I will use the name we gave you, as we gave it in kindness and love: Cecilia, I beg you, lift the curse off my lord’s shoulders, for he is a good, honourable man. I have seen the goodness in your heart and the kindness in your soul. Have witnessed your brevity and honour. You never tried to hurt anyone, were always there to protect, your actions speak for you manifold. There is a heart so generous within your chest. So hear my plea for I know you have the softest of ears and the kindest of souls. I beg for forgiveness for my lord's and mine soul.”</p><p>The girl listened with sweet countenance. And when she smiled it was as pure as the Virgin Mary’s and just as poised. When he had finished, she said:</p><p>“My most noble Osferth, your words honour you and your Lord, but you are mistaking me for something I am not. Only your noble God that resides in heaven can grant you forgiveness, I can not.(17)”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* This is supposedly the place where the She-Devil’s name was stated, but it was smudged over deliberately.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(17) Vendetta Octavia. <a href="https://venettaoctavia.tumblr.com/post/149974725206/you-are-shaking-fists-trembling-teeth-i-know">The Burning</a>. “Sometimes, I think you forget./ I am not God./ I do not forgive.” Add on: I as can be seen heavily reinterpreted this, but I wanted to note the original influence here.</p><p>One time irisdouglasiana had this idea that by killing Skade, Uhtred had simply transformed the curse into something else and that this was the reason why he betrayed Brida in Season 4 because he is incapable of caring for her due to the curse. And I don’t know, I found it neat and tried to find a way to make this happen.</p><p>I hope this was a worthy ending, I am aware that it probably feels the least like early medieval literature and I hope you can live with that. Also yes, Hild was for some reason not present during the trial, she simply is too competent and with her the plotline just wouldn’t have happened. (A bit like how she was nowhere to be seen by the end of Season Four.) If you have any thoughts and feelings please feel free to yell them at me!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my general references:<br/>Beowulf. Anglo-Saxon Poetry. Translated and edited by S.A.J. Bradley. London: Everyman Library, 1982.<br/>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Second Edition. Translated with an introduction by Brian Stone. New York: Penguin Books, 1974.<br/>Cecilia of Rome. Cantantibus organis Caecilia. <a href="https://gregorien.info/chant/id/1168/0/de">link to song text </a>, note the translation here is in German.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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